This is: Monique Schröder

So very often in life, we tend to misunderstand one another, lose in translation what one of us is trying to do or say versus what the other eventually perceives. The threshold that separates one’s interpretation from the other’s is ambiguous, and nowhere near as obscure as in the realm of verbalizing an artistic practice – all the more so in an age in which much of what we attain with our vision is already filtered, through the sheen of device-induced virtuality. While in some areas of visual messaging an over-analysis of details is frowned upon – if not impossible – , there are also those that simply require that hinge, to successfully splice the elusivity of creative work with fathomable rhetoric, to help explain and commercialize the craft in question. 

At the helm of esteemed interior specialist David Thulstrup’s Communications division, Monique Schröder considers herself to be just that: “The connecting tissue between every detail of what the architects and designers are working on, and a presentation of that mighty enough to resonate with people around the world.” Ultimately, she says, it is her duty “to unpack and transform what started with a single line on tracing paper into bite-sized stories.” Claiming to be the stereotypical embodiment of a curious Gemini, the German native has her “hands on everything from writing, editing, PR, brand strategy, identity, to art direction and social media.”

Based on her portfolio of professional experiences, the CBS-alum has always preferred the sense of fluidity that comes with working at the intersection of product production and product promotion. Alongside her managerial studies, Schröder would seek refuge from “heavy business books” in the realm of writing. Following a gig at Copenhagen’s Bitchslap Magazine, she would later expand on her knack for fashion, lifestyle and publishing through jobs at Kinfolk, Sindroms, and Soulland, before eventually rerouting toward more architecturally-driven companies, which led her first to IKEA’s innovation subsidiary, SPACE 10, and later to Studio David Thulstrup.  

“His body of work spans from private houses, hospitality projects, and luxury stores, to design hotels and bespoke furniture”, she tells of her employer, who had previously worked under icons such as Jean Nouvel and Peter Marino. Amongst a “culturally diverse team of architects, interior designers, product designers and material experts,” Schröder strives for what she adorably refers to as “pinch-me-now-moments” – the points at which you realize you’ve just witnessed a vague idea blossom into something three-dimensional, an actual space to dwell in and observe from all angles.

“David puts his focus on the context and surroundings of a space, and how it can be elevated through materiality, light and structural interventions. His deep understanding for how people interact in them allows for his designs to feel contemporary but also able to withstand the test of time,” she insists, pointing to how Thulstrup’s affinity for interspersing icy sleekness with vivid, aggressive colors sets him apart from fellow Danish minimalists. Mere months into her job at the renowned studio, Schröder was initially drawn to its aversion to trends or hype, and “the huge, delicious material library, the stacks of papers and drawings, piles of books – this little slice of analogue heaven in a digitally-run world.”

To swoon over what’s reminiscent of back before social media so gravely influenced our behavior feels achingly familiar. “Instagram is more of a curse than it is a blessing, but it still is a crucial platform, an ecosystem of consumers, curators, potential clients and press,” Schröder describes, admitting that there is no way around partaking in it, particularly as a brand with heavy emphasis on aesthetics. It can certainly last for some and help with launching young entrepreneurs’ careers, but it’s all “built to require a steady investment of money to really reap the fruits” – a bribery of the algorithm for it to act in one’s favor and keep ahold of the momentum. 

Verdicts like these are often accompanied by negative undertones, and enforce a reevaluation of what it really means to be a creative in 2021. “Without a formula to truly, numerically measure creativity, passion and intuition, I have a feeling it will always be tough not to undersell oneself,” Schröder reflects. Further noting how “without the arts and culture, this is not a world worth living in,” she reminds of the societal significance of design, particularly on a spatial level. Unraveled by viruses, other reckonings, and our changing concepts of space, our homes, our havens, we need to “recognize and appreciate” the resources and people that devotedly contribute(d) to their creation. 

Alluding to other way-paving conversations being held, Schröder suggests that “perhaps, the question is how we can ensure that design doesn’t become or remain too elitist, too exclusive”. Convinced that “it needs a massive overhaul in terms of representation, privilege, and priorities”, Schröder opines that “the design industry upholds many facets of systemic oppression”. Therefore, the 30-year old declares that “design comes with responsibility”, one that seeps deep down into all of the cuts we gashed into our communities and our natural habitat. Design in its entirety, the economy around it and the values in place must be scrutinized, subverted even. 

Concluding with a plea for “more socially and environmentally conscious solutions for how we construct buildings, and for how we envision public and private spaces to evolve in the future”, Monique Schröder indicates there is far more to design and our relationship with it than fancy feeds have us believe. “What might happen once society has collectively moved on to a different medium?”, she wonders. Needless to say, the endurance of this phone screen-sized, overstimulating format is impressive, but it can’t possibly be immune to cracks – and neither can those reluctant to see beyond its current, vain appeal. “I mean, who really likes sponsored posts anyways?”